


Sanctuary

by thebearking



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Black Character(s), Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes-centric, Bucky and His Goats, Canon Compliant, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Character of Color, Female Reader, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Genius Shuri (Marvel), POV Bucky Barnes, Pining, Post-Black Panther (2018), Post-Civil War (Marvel), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Pyrokinetic Reader, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Smut, Wakanda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 04:47:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15016967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebearking/pseuds/thebearking
Summary: You’ve found sanctuary in Wakanda, and Bucky has found sanctuary in you.





	Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

> i’m in a bucky mood for some reason, so i wrote this real quick on a whim. here the reader is a pyrokinetic black woman from the african diaspora. up to you whether she’s african-american, afro-caribbean, afro-latino, etc. i had fun with this one. i just love writing about people pining after each other. enjoy!

Bucky had made a habit of watching the sun go down, when he’d finished all his tasks for the day, and his goats had begun to settle in for the evening, retreating willingly to their pens. The kids—not goats this time but actual human children—would wish him goodbye and return home to their families, leaving you and Bucky to your own devices. Once you realized that all Bucky was doing was going out to the nearest cliff and watching the sunset, you began to join him, sitting next to him in comfortable silence.

You had only known Bucky, the real Bucky, not the brainwashed supersoldier, for a few months. Like him, you required some time to heal after recent events. You were a pyrokinetic, recruited by Steve after the Incident in New York. When SHIELD went down, you stayed with Steve and had fought the Winter Soldier, giving him quite the beating before he managed to knock you off your feet. During the Accords fiasco, you had sided with Tony at first, knowing your fire powers could do a lot of damage if left unchecked. You’d attended the signing of the Accords with Natasha, but when the explosion killed half the attendants, including King T’Chaka, you realized that you wouldn’t be able to handle only using your abilities when some elected official gave you permission.

And so you’d fought Bucky again, when those Russian words sent him back into Winter Soldier mode. He’d managed to bruise your face up pretty bad before T’Challa stepped in, ready to avenge his father. When you next saw Bucky, he was much more like himself. He’d seen the bruises on your cheek and chin and offered a feeble apology.

You’d laughed and clarified that if he hadn’t meant so much to Steve, you would’ve bruised him back.

That was the moment Bucky decided he could trust you. Anyone that loyal to Steve was someone worthy of his trust.

The aftermath was unpleasant. To ensure you wouldn’t break out of the Raft, the CIA had tranquilized you with a form of downer you knew all too well: one that disabled your pyrokinesis, brought your temperature down to a more human level. You’d been shivering in your cell when Steve showed up to break you and the others out. Even when the tranqs wore off, you were unable to conjure any flame, and so you’d stayed in Wakanda under Shuri’s care. You spent months training with the Dora Milaje to at least keep your fighting skills up to par, and while you could heat your hands to several hundred degrees, your flames still hadn’t returned. Shuri chalked it up to all the stress the last several years had caused you, from the Incident to the fall of SHIELD to Ultron and now the Accords.

When Bucky emerged from cryo a lot less haunted, you elected to stay with him, living with a kind Wakandan family not far from Bucky’s own hut.

In those three months since Shuri fixed him, Bucky had found himself with something he had not realized he’d needed in Steve’s absence: a companion.

The sun was sinking faster and faster, the sky darkening overhead. You looked relaxed, rejuvenated. You were smiling, for one, more broadly than he’d ever seen. You wore loose pants and a shirt with long, billowy sleeves, so different from the catsuits and tactical gear he’d seen you in. Your feet were bare, your hands free of gloves. Your outfit was full of color: blues, greens, and the same soft orange as the Wakandan sunset. Your hair was uncovered, tied back from your face in a high ponytail, stray curls falling against your temples. The light of the sinking sun deepened the brown of your skin, made you look coppery, even rosy. With your fire abilities, it was only natural that the sun would look so good on you at every hour of the day.

Bucky realized that he liked looking at you, probably more than he should.

“My mother used to tell me about a place like this,” you murmured suddenly, cocking your head to the side as you looked out over the horizon. “A black utopia, Africa untouched. I thought she was just hyped up on reading so much Octavia Butler.” You glanced at Bucky, saw his confusion, and smiled. “Phenomenal author. I’m sure Shuri’s got some of her books lying around somewhere.”

Bucky nodded. “I’d love to read ’em.”

“I just never imagined that it could all be _real_. I’ve never felt so at home, yet so other here. Like I’ve lived in this place before but it’s changed so much, and I’ve changed so much, that it feels unfamiliar to me.” You were worrying your lower lip between your teeth.

He didn’t like seeing you so anxious and sad. “I’m sorry,” he offered weakly, knowing no apology in the world could make up for your loss. This was different from a loss of life; this was a loss of identity, one he hoped Wakanda could help you recover.

You snorted. “Barnes, I don’t tell you this to make you feel bad. I tell you this ’cause I trust you.” You flashed him a glinting look through the corner of your eye. “Okay, maybe also to make you feel bad.”

Bucky grinned. “Here I was thinking you didn’t have a sadistic bone in your body.”

“Oh? Try taking the last bite of lamb next time and I’ll show you how sadistic I can be, Barnes.”

He looked back to the sun, squinting as the last rays began to fade. “Bucky.”

“Hm?”

“You can call me Bucky. I don’t mind.”

You blinked, then nodded. “Got it.” You leaned back on your hands, smiling to yourself. “Bucky.”

That seemed to be the moment that things changed ever-so-slightly between you, the moment when you seemed to realize that you had a friend in Bucky. You started coming over more frequently, sometimes just to sit and read in the grass while he worked. You were good company even if you intimidated the hell out of him.

It wasn’t even that you tried to be intimidating. It had just been so long since he’d spent time with anyone as vibrant and intuitive as you, someone who could read him like the back of her hand. He had a feeling Steve had dealt with this same annoyingly accurate intuition for the last few years.

You had a way of making him feel whole again, even though he’d lost his left arm. You did these little gestures that made him wonder if there was something more between the two of you, whether it was helping him tie back his hair or offering to take over a task while he napped. You’d even started sleeping at his place some nights, figuring if you were going to spend the whole day together, you might as well stay.

He didn’t spar with you, but he liked watching you practice. Every now and then, one of the Dora or the King’s Guard or even a plucky Wakandan civilian would come to help you sharpen your skills. You had your fair share of wins and losses, but you fared well even without your fire. Over time, he noticed that your fighting style was beginning to reflect the Wakandans, lots of rapid-fire kicks and aerodynamic whirls. Once, just once, T’Challa came to see your improvement firsthand, along with Okoye, Nakia, and Shuri. Shuri took great pleasure in watching you pin her brother down to the dirt, recording it all with her kimoyo beads.

While Steve and Sam never came to visit in person, there were plenty of times when you found moments to video-chat them. Bucky liked knowing that they were both safe, and that they were taking good care of each other. He would be lying if he said Sam hadn’t grown on him, and he loved giving Steve shit about his hair and beard.

“Still tryna look like me, huh, punk?” Bucky would tease, remembering how a much skinnier, more insecure Steve used to comb his hair a certain way to emulate Bucky’s look.

“Try all you want, Steve,” you would say. “You look good, but I’ve got the original model right here.” And then you’d clap Bucky on the shoulder and flash him that little impish smile that you only ever shared with him.

And when it was just Bucky and Steve, or Bucky and Sam, or all three, there would be talk of how close you and Bucky had gotten, how tenderly you two looked at each other. Damn those two for being able to read Bucky so well.

He got a kick out of all the stories you told him, from the first time you met Steve to your first mission with SHIELD. You could paint a picture with your words so vividly that Bucky felt like he was almost there, reliving the memories beside you. The sound of your voice became a comfort to Bucky, and over time, as you became more affectionate with him, he found that your touch was just as soothing. All you did was brush his hand or kiss his cheek every now then, and it left him blushing like a little boy.

You got a kick out of seeing his pink cheeks, which is why he suspected you were being even more touchy with him now. He’d been touch-starved for so long that he had forgotten what it felt like to receive touches purely out of kindness, and not punishment.

God, your hands were soft.

It was so easy to talk to you. Bucky couldn’t tell if it was because the two of you didn’t have much history; it didn’t seem right to say so when he had grown so comfortable around you in the last year. It was a little disconcerting how open he found himself wanting to be with you, how easily he’d let slip whatever he was feeling when you were looking at him. You had a way of looking at him that was soft and intense all at once, like a smoldering flame.

Of course, you could read him well, and when he was quieter than usual one night, you called him out on it.

“What are you so afraid of?” you murmured. You were lying with your head in his lap. The sun had set long ago, leaving the both of you in darkness, aside from the light of the moon.

Bucky’s fingers stilled in your hair. “What do you mean, doll?”

You smiled at the pet name. “I think I make you nervous, and I’d like to know why.”

Bucky sighed heavily and let his head drop, chin to his chest. He peered down at you, squinting, trying to read you back. “You know all about me. That’s what’s so frightening.”

“I only know as much as you’ve told me, so that’s on you, bud,” you chided, reaching up to pinch his cheek. “I mean, you know all about me, too. Don’t you?”

It was true. You’d shared a lot about yourself with him: where you’d grown up, what your family was like, some of your deepest fears and desires. You’d used your kimoyo beads to bring up old childhood photos of yourself, for Christ’s sake. But that wasn’t what Bucky was talking about. He wanted to know what you thought about him, if you felt the same fire he felt when you looked at each other.

The hand you’d used to pinch him now just rested absently on his cheek. Your eyes were watching him hopefully, communicating something he had a feeling he understood.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, nodding slowly. “I think I do.”

Funny how one little look could confirm so much for him.

It was you who finally made the first move, though Bucky wished it had been him. The two of you had been living in Wakanda for a little over a year. You were both sitting in the grass around the fire after a meal, the local kids sent home not long ago, and he had watched as you held your hand out experimentally, trying to draw the flame to you. It seemed your powers were emerging slowly but surely. You laughed with delight when you managed to nudge the fire toward your hand.

“Look! Bucky, I moved it!” you shrieked, bouncing excitedly in your seat. He’d never seen you so thrilled, your smile seeming to take up your entire face. It was then, with the fire dancing in your eyes and his heart thumping anxiously against his ribcage, that Bucky decided he wanted to kiss you.

And of course, you beat him to it. Just as he reached out to tap your shoulder, you turned to him, cupped his cheek in one hand, and leaned forward to touch your lips to his.

The kiss was soft, not quite tentative but certainly careful. The feeling of your plush mouth over his made Bucky feel like he was walking on air. And as he leaned into it, you pulled away, just a tad, to gauge his reaction. He must have looked dopy, because you giggled and leaned in again, kissing him with a little more fervor, a little more urgency. As long as you were kissing him, it seemed like the two of you could be anywhere, not hiding from anyone, just two regular people making out in a field, listening to the crackling of the fire and the soft bleating of the goats.

It was a little awkward, trying to hold on to you with one arm. Fortunately, Bucky had a lot of balance, and you were easy to work with. After the two of you hastily snuffed out the fire, Bucky took you to his hut, laying you down on his bed. Then the two of you were kissing again, and you were tugging at his shirt, making soft urgent sounds into his mouth, and he pulled away only to strip down. He took his time helping you out of your own clothes, letting his eyes drink you in, the curve and bend of your waist, the thick softness of your thighs, legs wrapping around his hips and pulling him in. He covered you in kisses, every inch of you, lips teasing your neck and your breast and your belly, before he could finally open you up with his fingers and taste you on his tongue, coaxing the sweetest whines out of you. You were murmuring his name, over and over, until your cries of  _Bucky_ turned into cries of  _James_ and he felt his own arousal growing heavy between his legs. You came with a final cry of his name and he palmed himself, wondering how it would feel to have your fingers around him.

He didn’t have to speculate long. You reached down to cup the warm weight of him in one hand, holding on to his shoulder with the other. Bucky sighed, his breaths getting deeper, voice getting huskier, as you rubbed him, stroked him, squeezed him just enough to make him hiss. “I need you, sweetheart,” he murmured into your neck, letting his teeth graze your skin. He bucked his hips up into your hand. “Need to be inside you.”

You kept your hand on him, lining him up with your folds, and the both of you groaned as Bucky slipped inside of you, finally. The warm wet squeeze of your walls around him nearly made him finish right there, but he stopped himself, started thrusting in and out of you, bracing himself above you with one arm. You arched up into him, one leg hitched around his waist, moaning wantonly as he managed to hit the best spot inside of you. “Right there,” you sighed, one hand fisted in his hair. “Yes… _Bucky_ …”

“So good, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss you. “Feel so good around me, baby.”

You smiled, but he could see he was flustering you a bit with his words. Hell, it’d been a long time since he’d uttered anything of that nature; he was flustering himself. “So close, baby, keep going,” you whined, your hips rising to meet his thrusts.

He started thrusting harder, making sure to reach the deepest parts of you. He wished he had a left arm so he could stimulate you further, but you didn’t seem to mind. You had one hand on his ass, pressing him against you. He could barely mutter a warning before he climaxed inside of you, hips stuttering. He lost his rhythm when your own climax followed, your folds fluttering around him.

He slid out of you and reached over for the water basin to his right. Though he felt a bit weak in the knees, he managed to wet a washcloth and wipe the both of you clean. You watched him with heavy-lidded eyes, lips slightly parted, looking spent.

Bucky tossed the cloth back into the basin and lay down next to you, pulling you against him with his one arm. You curled up into him, tangling your legs with his. You looked exhausted; he was glad that after all this time, he could still tire a girl out. He was staring up at the ceiling, smiling dreamily, when you patted his cheek, tugging him forward for a languid kiss. He’d never felt so taken care of, so wanted. It felt good to be wanted, especially by someone like you.

You fell asleep tucked under his arm, and Bucky watched you for a little bit, watched your side rise and fall with each breath, followed the curve of your waist with his eyes. In that moment, when you looked so serene, so vulnerable, he felt a sense of protectiveness over you, a fierce devotion he had never experienced until now. Whatever was coming, whatever dared to hurt you or him or tear the two of you apart, he would face it. Whatever demons you were fighting, he would fight them alongside you.

You’d ignited a fire in his heart, and in turn, he was going to help you find yours.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading & let me know what you think!


End file.
